Fall dawned clear, cool and almost windless. The bird of yesterday morning was a Yellow-billed Cuckoo well seen at the head of the marsh and an object of enmity from many other birds (it was attacked by Am Robins, a Flicker and other birds). Apparently cuckoos look like predators to other birds! There were also numbers of Scarlet Tanagers and Baltimore Orioles (also a very yellow-looking oriole which may have been an Orchard), many Red-eyed Vireos (no other vireos, alas) and a few warblers -- Chestnut-sided, Am Redstart, Common Yellowthroat -- as well as the usual Robins and Catbirds. Once again, I heard a nuthatch but was unable to get a good fix on it (although it was probably a White-breasted, there are some Red-breasted Nuthatches around).
The creek was oddly bereft of Royal Terns which have been so much in evidence in past weeks. Did they all leave (I did hear one flying up the creek at twilight)?
There were a few raptors. Besides the regular flow of Osprey (I saw one bird dive four times into the creek without success), some accipiters turned up. One Sharp-shinned Hawk tried to make it directly across the wide mouth of the creek and was attacked by a much larger American Crow. After enduring a whole series of dives from this crow, the Sharpie, a much more agile bird, suddenly excuted a couple of deft manouevres, positioning itself above the crow which it promptly started to dive bomb back. The aerial battle continued back and forth like this over the marsh until both birds were out of sight.
Later in the day, a solitary Am Crow perched nearby the pond and started a long series of crow monologues -- a remarkable and quite original collection of caws, croaks, chatter and whatnot. I remember Konrad Lorenz discussing (in his "King Solomon's Ring") a Jackdaw that had gotten separated from its colony and that sat for hours performing such a monologue as if it were trying to remember or describe or call back its former companions and former life. Lorenz described it as like a corvid epic poem and that's what this crow's peroration sounded like to me! There are plenty of crows hereabouts and they make plenty of noise but I have never heard anything like this. Indeed, the other local crows seemed to be paying no attention to this extraordinary declamation. What was it about? I wonder if I'll ever know.
Later in the afternoon, I went down to the pond to see what was around and the crow monologue seemed to be starting up again. But this time this the subject seemed to be more restricted and the tone contained some notes of anxiety. Suddenly a Sharp-shinned Hawk exploded from somewhere in the woods with two crows in hot pursuit. Round and round they went with the hawk trying to elude its pursuers. Sharp-shins can fly fast but the much larger crows, with their powerful wingbeats, were easily able to keep up. Unlike the earlier Sharp-shinned, which was fighting a single hawk, when this one tried to use its agility to twist around and turn the tables by attacking one of its tormentors, the other crow would came right at and hit it hard. The hawk-crow merry-go-round must have gone around a dozen times or more. The birds would disappear over the woods and then reappear over the pond and creek always with the two crows in hot pursuit. Eventually the Sharp-shinned got away. I think it landed briefly in the woods, leaving the two crows to overshoot the mark. As soon as the coast was clear, the Sharp-shinned took off, heading up the creek. When the crows, all pumped up with crow testosterone, came back round looking for the hawk, all they could find, perched high on top of a pine, was a completely innocent Great Egret which they promptly proceeded to attack. The egret, which was having none of it. stuck out its neck at full length, ruffled its feathers and showed its dagger-like beak to the crows which quickly retreated.
Eric Salzman
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